Must Be The Music: Selfish Jean
by Beaubier
Summary: Fourth Story in Must Be The Music. Jean has finally adjusted to college life and being single. But can she really manage to start bringing mutants and humans together and still maintain a relatively normal social life? Or would that be asking too much?


TITLE: Must Be The Music: Selfish JeanAUTHOR: Beaubier AUTHOR'S E-MAIL: fastlove.for.rentATgmailDOTcom  
FANDOM: X-Men: Evolution  
PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: Any time, just let me know!  
CATEGORY: Romance/Action…? Hell if I know.  
RATINGS/WARNINGS: Rated T for language  
SUMMARY: Fourth Story in Must Be The Music. Jean has finally adjusted to college life and being single. But can she really manage to start bringing mutants and humans together and still maintain a relatively normal social life? Or would that be asking too much?  
DISCLAIMER: I didn't invent the X-Men and I have nothing to do with Evolution. If you somehow think I do: Thanks for the compliment, mislaid thought it may be.

NOTES: This is a sort of sequel to Thicker Than Water (which was a sequel to Relativity and then Here Comes Trouble), but it's not necessary to read that saga to catch on here. I'll make everything clear. That said, this is the fourth in a planned series of several one shots that explore the various main characters from TTW. Some will be serious, some fluffy, some just plain ridiculous (much like Here Comes Trouble, only more disjointed.) These stories will be written in chronological order beginning a few months after the end of TTW. They are generally stand-alone, like this one.

This is Jean's. If you don't like this one, please hit up the next one just the same. They'll all be completely different from each other. Except that… you know. I'm writing them all. The current line up is Wanda, Warren, Jean-Paul, Jean, Rogue, Sam, Pietro, Alex, Scott, Aurora. But of course that's subject to change if I get a bug up my nose about something.

A short explanation of what the hell I'm doing here: When I write I have music for every character. Since I suck with titles and generally get most of my inspiration/ideas from music, each story in this planned series will be named after a song (a common cop out for me.) I'll put a few lyrics at the beginning as an example of why because I'm a geek like that. But don't try and match the song up with the story ala Dark Side of Oz. I'm not that clever. I just like music.

**ALSO:** Before you freak out about the title, remember it's just the title of the song. It does not reflect the actual contents of this small story, nor anything else. The words are just perfect for what I wanted to do here, is all. (And let's not forget, it's a great tune!) Also, if you can't stomach an OC having a large supporting role in a story, now would be the time to leave. Some of the humans from TTW show up again, some more than others. We know how Jean loves her flatscans.

**Extra thanks go to Risty **for not just the beta read this time, but also for 1. Immense help on interpreting Jean (I am not great with her, I'll be the first to admit, but I had a story that I thought would really finish what I began and she made it work) and 2. Dazzler (who I never had a lick of inspiration for till I met her horribly offensive and brilliant Ultimate Ali at DSR).

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**Must Be The Music Pt. 4**  
Selfish Jean 

_Here's to you  
Who read everything  
Left it out on the shelf  
There's no one else to blame  
Except yourself_

_Well a perfect combination of good etiquette and charm  
You keep the chocolate biscuits wired to a car alarm  
Oh, Selfish Jean_

-Travis

**NYSU-MC-ESU Human-Mutant Associations  
Present  
Dazzler Live!**  
Friday March 16  
NYS – Salomon Hall  
Doors Open 8:00

3:00 PM  
Mutant Awareness Panel/Q&A  
Hopkins Building, Room 100  
Come and ask your questions (and maybe answer some!)

Jean always felt her best when she was too busy to think, and this semester so far had been a glowing testament to that fact. She'd successfully juggled training, schoolwork, friendships and still somehow found time to be instrumental in the creation of the shiny new pan-academic Human-Mutant Association. Started at NYS by her friend Gaz Russell and a few others, with her help it had recently spread like a plague of goodwill to both Metro College and Empire State.

And the fifteen or so leftover flyers on the kitchen table in front of her were all that was left of a printing of thousands… not to mention the last of their budget for the semester. (A budget she'd cleverly inflated with donations from the Xavier Institute, but a budget nevertheless.)

She felt proud looking at it. She felt… content. The fact that they could pull off an event this size after only four months of solid work meant that their grassroots approach was working. The attitude toward mutants was changing slowly, but it was changing in New York City. College kids were starting to embrace it as their very own civil rights movement.

And it was. It was theirs… but more than that, it was _hers_. She felt personally responsible for it. She felt… like she was born for this sometimes. Maybe it was ridiculous of her, maybe it was childish. But the fact was that the community needed leaders. And she needed to _do something_. And she was _good _at this.

She'd hadn't really felt that she was_ doing something_ since Apocalypse. And this was even better. This was hers.

"Don' seem fair that you only invited your best friends to be on that panel." A drawling voice interrupted her reverie. Jean would've known who it was even without that vaguely twangy accent or the faint trace of cigarette smoke that he wore like a second overcoat.

She knew because she hadn't telepathically felt him come in. That could only mean one person.

"Seems a touch biased, some might say," Remy finished complaining as he pulled out the seat next to her, swung it around backwards and planted himself firmly on top of it. He somehow made it look like a lounge chair, sprawled all over it like that—his arms hanging over the back of the seat and his backside hanging of the edge. And him just as comfortable as could be.

Jean rolled her eyes but smiled at the same time. She'd been less than excited about the Cajun sticking around after Wundagore, but he'd grown on her. For one, he was good at what he did. For another, he was easy on the eyes. And last but certainly not least, he was extremely comfortable to be around, like almost no one else in the world. She didn't have to make the slightest attempt to guard herself from his thoughts—she couldn't have read them if she wanted to.

Which, she also had to admit, lent him a certain air of mystery that compounded his charm and good looks exponentially. Sure, he was a horrible Casanova she'd never truly consider becoming involved with, even in a fun no-strings kind of way… but flirting never killed anyone she knew.

There were times when thoughts like that still struck her as mildly guilt-worthy. She tried to tell herself it wasn't like before, that she wasn't pretending not to know that her best friend loved her while toying with a guy that ended up being his social arch-enemy, like she had with Scott and Duncan in high school. And it _certainly _had nothing in common with those panicked days before Wundagore, when she'd crushed on Angel just because she'd been unhappy and restless and guilt-stricken about abandoning her friends and family.

She was just having fun. She was a free woman again, so why not?

But four months, while it was apparently enough to start swinging public opinion on mutants in the right direction, hadn't been enough to make her forget how she'd behaved. Jean never wanted to feel like _that _again. Betrayal, she'd found, left a terrible taste in her mouth.

Good sense dictated that this was not an applicable situation, however. There was really no other way to deal with Gambit, after all. "Says who?" she half-laughed at him. "I think it's balanced as can be. Feeling left out?""

He smiled that horribly charming smile of his—the one Jean had seen melt Amara into a pile of lava last night at dinner when he'd asked her for the salt. "Might be. What'd you do if I said I was? You gon' invite Remy?"

Jean stopped herself from rolling her eyes again, but only just barely. She did, however, continue to smile. "Maybe if Remy stops speaking in third person."

"Ah, Jeannie,' he laughed and leaned his head on his arms, which were already chin high thanks to his decision to sit on the chair backwards. "You can take the boy out of the swamp—"

"Yeah, yeah," she laughed, leaning the elbow farthest from him on the table and resting her own chin on it to get a better view. "My parents have some Cajun friends you know. They don't talk like that."

Gambit only kept smiling. It wasn't just the fact that he was telepathically impenetrable that made him such a mystery, she realized. The fact that his eyes were that strange glowing red didn't help much either. Who knew what went on in there? "That really why you didn't invite me, _chere_?"

"No," she admitted. In fact it had never occurred to her to invite Gambit, but it wasn't because of his silly pronoun issues. Or his random interjection of French words where they shouldn't exist. She wouldn't have invited Remy LeBeau to represent the X-Men on a panel about Mutant-Human relations any more than she would've invited Kurt, love him though she did.

It was just… bound to be bad PR.

However, she thought she could be a little more politic about her explanation. "I didn't invite you because there were clearer options. Kitty and Scott are representative age-wise, but have both been here for a long time and know how things work. And I invited Aurora because I think it would be good for her. And she agrees."

Remy considered her for a minute, the suave smile falling off his face to be replaced with a quieter version of itself. Finally he said, "You're a good friend, you know that?"

Well, she hadn't always been. But that was water under the bridge, and she wouldn't let it happen again. She'd adjusted now, she was balanced. She and Aurora were closer than ever before, in fact, and Jean wouldn't have had it any other way. Hell, she didn't know where she'd be without someone else to talk to these days. She'd probably lose her mind in the madness.

(She'd done that once before. She had no desire to repeat the experience.)

But she knew damn well that Gambit wasn't such a bad friend either. That was another thing that had allayed her fears about the man over the last few months—he might've seemed dodgy but when it came down to it… he protected his own. He'd come to them in the first place to save Pyro's life, and since he'd decided to stay he'd been nothing but loyal and dependable, to the point of willingness to sacrifice himself on more than one occasion.

She felt like there was something good in him.

Or he was just so hot she wanted him to be. But seeing as she was far from desperate, probably not.

"You're not a bad one either," she pointed out "Even if you want us to think you are."

He leaned a little closer and his grin went wicked again. "Don't try and fool a fooler. I know you're not in here," he tapped the side of his head.

She leaned in too, almost without meaning to. Till they were closer than they should've been, but not dangerously so. "What makes you think I need telepathy to get in _there_?"

She did, of course. But that didn't mean he needed to know that.

Still smiling, he made a one-handed gesture of defeat, gloved palm facing upward as if he were serving up his surrender on a silver platter. "Can't argue with that."

A rustling in the doorway caught her attention and she looked up, suddenly extremely aware that her being within six inches of Gambit's face might not look so fantastic to some of the younger kids. Gossip spread like wildfire through the Institute and Gambit had already been linked to Rogue, Aurora, Amara, Jean-Paul and, as if that last one wasn't weird enough to imagine, Wanda Maximoff. (Sam Guthrie, bless his heart, took the rumor well. He'd just laughed and shaken his head.)

But it wasn't one of the younger kids at the door. It was Scott.

Jean felt her face flush slightly as an unexpected wave of guilt washed over and through her entire body. For her not to have felt _Scott_, of all people, coming into the room… well she must've been interested in the conversation, anyhow.

She fought her first instinct to jerk herself away from Remy—it would only look suspicious if she did and there was nothing to be suspicious about. Or to feel awkward about, for that matter.

"Hey Scott. What's up?" She forced her voice to cooperate and sound casual. Inoffensive. Un-guilty.

That kind of thing was a specialty of hers. Cultivated over years of practice in her mother's society like the rare and precious pearl it was.

Remy turned his head and tossed off a slight wave to the new arrival. Unaffected as usual.

Remy and Scott were not the best of friends. That must've been what had made her feel that sudden wave of guilt (which wasn't entirely gone yet, but was moving right along. Really it was.) They were civil in polite society, but Gambit had a slight problem with authority at times. And Scott was Authority with a capital A.

Sometimes it was a little like watching two rams head-butt, actually. Aurora had once suggested they start taking bets on who'd come up without a major internal injury next time. But Jean knew they both meant well—Gambit was just used to doing things his way (whether in spite of or because of working for Magneto, Jean didn't know) and Cyclops was used to not being questioned. It'd work itself out as their team dynamic grew stronger. And it grew every day.

But Scott's displeasure was obvious. He didn't even try to hide the irritated look he was throwing Remy and she, at least, could feel him broadcasting it like it was Scott Radio FM. But he answered her just the same. "Nothing. Jean you ah…" He finally looked at her when he got to the bit where he stuttered. And seemed to remember what it was he'd wanted to say. "Everything cool for tomorrow?"

She straightened up, put her shoulders back just a little and met his eyes. Why should she feel guilty, anyhow? And why should he give Remy that look?

More importantly, why did _she_ be bothered either way? That was what _really _aggravated her. That… that she was _bothered_.

She was about to give him a frosty answer when Remy spoke up instead. "Yeah." He grinned from Jean to Scott, as if he hadn't noticed the irritation behind the red shades in the least. "'Cept I wasn't invited."

She sighed at him. But smiled too. At least he'd diffused the situation somewhat. "Come to the concert, Remy. The band is supposedly great."

Or they'd better be, anyhow. Gaz had _sworn _that Dazzler were going to be worth the gigantic chunk of the HMA budget they'd blown convincing them to turn up and play. And not only were they fronted by a mutant who didn't seem to give a damn if everyone in the world knew what she was, but they were also getting to be extremely popular on the local scene. So she'd relented…

…but if they sucked, Gaz would _so _be paying for it.

"Maybe I will," Remy replied, acting as if this had made up for some kind of grievous wound to his pride and nodding benevolently.

"Yeah, and maybe you can stop hitting on every girl in the house and try hitting on every girl at NYS instead." Scott suggested helpfully. He was standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, smiling as close to sarcastically as he could muster.

He was so cute when he was being all dry and funny. Well… funny for Scott, anyhow.

Remy shook his head sadly now. "I'm getting a bad rep lately."

Scott appeared concerned. "Wonder why," he said with perfect faux-interest.

"Don' be cross, _mon ami_."

Jean bit her lip hard to keep from laughing. They were both in good form today—instead of it instantly deteriorating into real cock-swinging it was just mildly entertaining. In that way testosterone spills so often were.

"Yeah, anyhow," Scott just rolled his eyes, obviously done dignifying the conversation with responses. Jean knew that look all too well.

"So will you come or not, Remy?" she asked, hoping to put the subject back where it belonged.

"Might be I will," he suggested, standing and turning the chair back around in what looked very much like one movement. The man had to have taken ballet lessons…

Or possibly just spent twenty years of his life as a thief.

"For now, I'll leave you." Remy made a short, only slightly mocking bow to Jean. If he exchanged any glance with Scott when he walked right past him out of the kitchen, she didn't see it.

Too bad. That had been fairly amusing… other than the guilt. Which, now that Scott was standing there _looking _at her, was starting to come right back…

"That guy…"

She waved one hand in the air dismissively. Not just for his words, but for her own emotions. She was being silly. "He's harmless."

Yes, she knew that Scott would argue. But she also knew that if Scott was really worried about Remy LeBeau, he wouldn't have allowed him to become an X-Man without a massive brawl. And Scott _had _allowed that to happen, so it said volumes. His protest couldn't be _too _vehement.

"Are you serious?" He came closer and grabbed at the seat Gambit had just been occupying, pulling it out and planting himself in it (the right way around, obviously.) "Jean, that's the last guy you need to be flirting with."

Fire alarms went off in her head. She put both palms flat on the table and pushed off a little, forcing her chair around to face him. As her face felt like it had suddenly been lit on fire.

Oh no. No he did not.

"Wait." She pointed one finger at him dangerously. "I do not believe you just said that."

He opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but she wasn't having it. She shook her head sharply and held her hand up in a very clear "shut the hell up" position. Then she started in again with, "First of all, is there any other way to interact with Remy LeBeau? I mean can _you _even talk to the man without flirting?"

Scott stuttered for a moment, then turned a little pink in the face, but she wasn't about to let him start talking now. He'd said quite enough. "And second, what the hell are you thinking, telling me who I should and shouldn't flirt with?"

And more importantly, why did she feel something scarily like the wave of guilt that'd come over her when he'd first walked into the kitchen when he'd said it?

Well, no time for that unpleasantness. She was _angry_ at him.

"Ah come on, Jean." He held up both hands in a gesture of unequivocal surrender, still a little pink and shocked looking. "I didn't mean it like that."

She arched her eyebrows, as if inviting him to explain himself. Not that anything he could say could possibly make this okay, because it wasn't. Since they'd broken up it hadn't really been an issue—but she fully expected him to be compliant the moment she decided to flirt, date or even sleep with whoever she damn well pleased. _He'd_ wanted to break up with _her_, after all… or at least… she thought so…

He didn't reply to her silent request for more information, so she spelled it out for him. Slowly. Monosyllabically. (Men sometimes needed a boost, after all.) "How did you mean it, Scott?"

"It just came out wrong," he sighed, defeated, and let his hands fall into his lap. She felt the mental white flag go up in his thoughts and it settled her down. A little. "Come on," he continued, "the guy has been stalking Rogue since before he got here, and I'm surprised we haven't discovered Warren impaling him on the flagpole for making eyes at Aurora. I think he even flirts with Kitty—he's always calling her that weird French word."

"_Chaton_," Jean frowned as she explained, wondering why she was even listening to this. "It just means Kitten."

"Well it makes me nervous. And he was definitely hitting on you too. Come on, you know better."

Oh. Oh, that _really_ did it. Jean narrowed her eyes and spat, "I _know _better? Scott, I'm not sure if you're trying to tell me I _should _know better or making fun of me because I _don't_, but either way you're in so much trouble right now. If I _knew better _than to talk to Remy—"

Scott had set his jaw as she was speaking, and cut in at that point. "That's not what I meant! Why are you purposely trying to make me sound like a jerk?"

"You don't _need _my help. I should _know better _than to what, then? To just generally talk to men who aren't you?"

He sputtered for a moment, but his former flag of surrender had been taken down. He was angry now and she could feel it. He felt like he was being truly wronged—as if he weren't the one trying to tell her what to do and how to feel and what she _knew_. "I _meant_ that you know better than to think I'd just randomly have a bias against him. I have reasons for what I think and I was trying to give them, I never said it was about me and you!"

She rolled her eyes and snapped, "Oh whatever, Scott. Way to backpedal."

"What is your _problem_?" He slammed his hand down on the table and stood up suddenly, a huge wave of anger tearing through him… which didn't happen all that often. "I just said that—"

"Just stop." She knew she was still snapping and it was starting to bother her. Mainly because she couldn't think of anything else to say to him at this point. She'd been _sure _he'd meant to tell her what to do… she just… well, he'd already said he hadn't. And… he didn't seem to be lying, because she'd know. His indignation was extremely real… to him, at least.

The thought brought a sense of something close to shame that threatened to balance out her own anger. The embarrassment from when Scott had first walked into the room—that hand in the cookie jar feeling—was now piled on top of the embarrassment of her getting all excited and…

"What the hell is going on?" Scott was grumbling under his breath. The hand that had been on the table clenched and unclenched twice. He was grinding his jaw and it looked extremely uncomfortable. "Jean if you think I would…"

She looked up at him halfway through his sentence and caught his eyes—immediately following that he trailed off and was left just staring at her. And angry. She knew what he was going to say though, and he probably knew she did.

At least he hadn't made her listen to it, anyhow.

"I don't know," she sighed after a minute of just holding his eyes. She guessed… well maybe she'd gotten it all wrong, like he'd said. She didn't like the sound of that so much… but maybe. "What would you do if I decided to date him?"

"Um… worry," he admitted, with a helpless look. But it wasn't an angry helpless look, at least. "But not because of us, Jean. We both… we both decided."

Actually… _had _it been his idea?

Well it didn't matter either way. Jean sighed again as the last of her irritation ran its course and left her feeling… well still embarrassed, but not much else. Maybe she still needed to spend more time with Scott, maybe she was taking what he was saying all wrong because they just didn't… well they didn't _do _things together as much now. At first she'd thought it was just because they were both busy getting over their failed attempt at more-than-friends. But then it had just become the status quo… and she'd not thought to question it since. And the last time she took her friends for granted…

"I haven't been around enough, have I?" She didn't like the slight edge in her voice. It sounded a little… concerned.

"What?" He was wrinkling his nose again, obviously confused by her sudden change in tactics and still standing there. But quite suddenly _not_ angry anymore. "Yeah, Jean. Hell, you've singled handedly whipped Warren into shape, you've been running all that stuff at your school, you're heading up half the training activities… what do you mean?"

"I don't know," she blew out a long breath between her lips. It felt good. Just… not good enough. "I'm just… I must be tired, huh?"

She _should_ be tired, probably—but she wasn't at all. Just distracted.

Yes. It was just distraction. That was why she was getting a little emotional and confused over nothing. Obviously. Why hadn't she thought of it before?

He sat back down, but a little stiffly. He was wounded and she knew it, but he smiled at her. "Hey, I can understand that. Jean, honestly, I would never say something like that. I'm just… uncomfortable with Gambit. And you mean a lot to me—you and everyone else here."

Yes, she knew that. And now she'd like to forget it, thanks. "I know."

He nodded, but his eyes were concerned behind his glasses. "Okay… can you get some rest?"

She smiled back up at him and wished it could be brighter. "After this weekend." And then she spotted the clock on the wall and groaned. Where the hell did the time go? And why the hell didn't they have a mutant around here yet who could somehow fold it up so they got extra hours in the day. Was that asking so much? "Shit I'd better go," she said with genuine regret in her voice. Not that she wanted to sit here and discuss this particular issue anymore, but it felt… odd, leaving after that. "You'll be there tomorrow?"

"I wouldn't miss it." He tried to look sincere.

He was so transparent. He would have missed it if not for fear of her and she knew it. Scott was _not _Mr. PR. That little debacle at Worthington Manor last week had nearly killed him, she suspected.

She rolled her eyes as she collected the last of her flyers and stood to go. "Liar."

"No fooling you," was all he said.

At least they agreed there.

* * *

"Okay, so after we finish this tomorrow, I'm definitely going to write that term paper." 

Jean blinked up at her companion over the table. "Gareth," she used his full name - he'd told her once that was what his mother did when he was in trouble, so she couldn't resist. "Isn't it due Monday?"

Gaz grinned crookedly. There wasn't much that was remarkable about his face—he had decently pretty dark brown eyes and average-looking shaggy dark brown hair that needed a good combing (possibly a wash—Jean had never touched it). No fabulous cheek bones, no sunglasses, no elegant ears, fantastic hair color, manly shoulders, pronounced jaw or heroic chin. But he did have gorgeous lips. Sensitive and pink, just slightly too puffy to believe they really belonged to a man, but not enough to make him look like he'd swiped them off Angelina Jolie.

Because of those lips and a brilliantly straight set of white teeth, when he smiled Gaz appeared to be good looking. He wasn't, not like every guy Jean had ever been closely affiliated with in her short lifetime. But his smile alone was enough to make her flirt with him just as much as with Remy LeBeau.

That and the fact that she liked him. Maybe it was just the long hours together trying to plan this shindig, but probably not—Jean had come to genuinely admire and respect him. (She tried not to think that she was more impressed with him because he _wasn't_ a mutant but managed to overcome that and accomplish remarkable feats anyhow. But it was always there in the back of her mind. Even if she'd never dream of saying it out loud.)

"Ah cut me some slack. I get really involved in this stuff…"

"I know." She leaned her elbow on the table and put her head in her hand, unconsciously mimicking the position she'd been in earlier when talking to Remy back at Xavier's. It made her lean just a little across the pile of papers that spanned the table between them. "Lucky for me. But writing a term paper in one weekend… and it's St. Patrick's day on Saturday."

He grimaced. "Yeah. That blows." Then he sighed just a little and leaned back in his seat, slouching so he looked about five inches shorter than he was. (Gaz wasn't remarkably tall either—probably a solid 5'10"… but so was she.) She was vaguely disappointed by that—having expected him to lean across the table like she was, or at least show some kind of interest. "It's so easy for you Jean," he said as he blew upward, sending his ragged bangs flying. They instantly landed just where they'd been before, half tangled in his (also unremarkable) eyelashes. "Everything is."

She smiled in spite of that odd disappointment in her belly. "Why would you think that?"

"Well it looks easy." He looked up and grinned now, reaching out for a pen on the table and fiddling with it. He was always doing something, even if it was just irritating her by tapping his foot or pen. He seemed calm and cool till you got to know him—only then did his superhuman reserves of energy become obvious. "You're smart, you're pretty, you're everyone's Perfect Girl."

She wrinkled up her nose slightly, not sure she liked the sound of that. That was… a weird thing to say. "Not everyone's."

Okay, maybe Fred Dukes'. But that had been mainly because no one else had been nice enough to try with the poor guy. There was no possible universe in which that would count. Other than that… well she supposed she'd had admirers. But what girl didn't?

"I never met a guy who'd disagree," he shrugged.

Now she knew she didn't like the sound of it—mostly thanks to the way he said it. Like he almost… thought it was a bad thing if someone might _happen_ to be taken with her. And anyhow, why would some guy trying to make out with her mean that everything was easy for her?

Yeah. He was in trouble now. "You really think that's what it's like?" she asked after staring him down for a minute. "You think it's that simple?"

If he realized he was treading on thin ice, he gave no outward sign. "Well… I mean you don't seem to feel it weighing down on you." He even smiled as he said it… but it still wasn't quite right. Something had shifted in him; she could feel it even though she had every shield up to avoid intruding on his mind. He _was _being a little… bitter. "The way you…" he continued, "I mean…"

She winced. What the hell was _with _guys today? "What? The way I flirt?" She raised her eyebrows dangerously, taking her elbow off the table and crossing her arms under her chest. Watching him.

He sat up straight. Apparently he'd finally figured out that he was about to be eaten alive, because he started to stutter, "No, I didn't… Jean… if you flirt, I start it… I didn't mea—"

Okay. This was just too weird.

She cut him off before he could embarrass himself any more. She wasn't going there with him—she'd already had enough of this today. "No, I know what you meant. Forget it." Did she really know what he meant? Well no, but she had an idea and she didn't want to hear more. He wasn't Scott, so his opinion didn't really matter… and anyhow, he was just as overworked as she was. She should be more charitable to the guy—he'd been a huge help. Without him she never would've gotten any of this done. He was a friend. "Are we set for our panel? Dr. Connors is a chemist so I don't even know why ESU is sending him—"

He finally leaned forward over the table a little. "Hey, stop," he suggested quietly. "Let's talk about this."

She tried not to roll her eyes. He was such a… hippy sometimes. She didn't _want _to talk about it, she just wanted to get the work done and go home and get some sleep before the madness… "I'm just feeling a little stressed. I didn't mean to snap."

He bit at his (remarkable) lower lip for a moment before announcing, "You were right."

"What?"

He looked at her for another long moment—obviously considering whether or not to say more. And then he did. "I _was_ going to say the way you flirt."

Um… okay. That was… unexpected that he'd admit to it. And just plain… ouch that he'd thought it in the first place. Not that she'd really expected anything else. Just that… well she shouldn't mind his opinion, so she resolved not to. "… oh."

"Sorry," he shook his head slightly, but still met her eyes. "That's shitty of me."

She held her head a little higher. "Yeah. It is."

And it was. Why the hell was everyone always trying to make her feel bad about the fact that she talked to guys? She _liked _them. Everyone did it—it was how the sexes interacted. There was no way to be a telepath and not realize that attraction would always factor in. Gaz was attracted to her, in fact—no big deal. So why was it that when she did it everyone said it made things easy for her or otherwise expressed inane disapproval… but when Remy LeBeau did it everyone talked about him like he was the Institute Pimp? There was a line—a line that a few of her fellow X-Men (Sunspot and, as much as Jean loved her, Aurora) never seemed to grasp… but she knew _she_ was well on the right side of it.

Why should she feel like a bad person?

He spread his hands out on some of the papers, a kind of charming helplessness grasping his (mostly unremarkable) features. "I mean I try to flirt with you all the time and you're nice enough not to tell me to fuck off. You were just…," he broke into a grin at that point, which was impeccably timed. Jean couldn't deny that the fact that her resolve chose that moment to soften toward him must have been linked to that smile. She tried to and failed. "You're the girl in high school who'd never look at me twice. I got bitter for a second. Totally my fault."

He was being honest, that much she knew… but that didn't mean it didn't sound weird. Of course, Gaz _was _notoriously weird. The guy carried a man purse (messenger bag, he insisted) covered in patches that said things like "Dead Kennedys" on them and his idea of a good time was watching five Stanley Kubrick movies in a row. He wasn't exactly the sort she was familiar with.

But… well he was smart and funny and obviously from a decent family. And he had that smile. And this emo lapse wasn't totally characteristic, though she knew from simple residual telepathy that it was always just below the surface with him.

It wasn't even so much that she hadn't imagined he'd had trouble getting girls in high school (he sure hadn't been shy introducing himself to her). It was more the idea that _she_ wouldn't have talked to him a year ago.

And the fact that she wasn't sure he was wrong. Not on purpose, never that. But if she was being honest… would she have noticed this guy if he hadn't unnecessarily defended her in class that day last semester?

"Please don't be mad," he turned a little more serious when she didn't say anything for a moment.

"No," she said quickly, taking a deep breath to clear her head. "I'm… I'm not." She hesitated because she wasn't sure _what _she was feeling about it. It wasn't regret or guilt exactly, which was what she expected. It was just… weird.

_Wow, way to go telepath—can't even tell what your own feelings are._

"It took a lot of guts to admit that," she said, ignoring her own mental bitch-slapping.

He looked relieved, the smile reappearing. It lightened things up considerably. "Well… what can I do? I'm a jerk."

She rolled her eyes at him, but it was mostly for show. Her body was starting to relax, her shoulders reminding her that she didn't need to sit as if she were ready for a fight, her neck coming unknotted. She put both elbows on the table now and cradled her chin between her hands, cocking her head just slightly at him. "You're as far from jerk as it gets and you know it."

Which, she realized, was why she hadn't been able to stay angry (on top of the smile and her previous battles of the day). He was good people—dedicated. Loyal. He'd probably never forgotten his friends at home or been jealous of his best friend for dating a (really beautiful) man. "_I'm_ a jerk," she confessed, thinking out loud. She still didn't feel much regret… but she'd never considered it before in this particular sense. It was mostly just new and curious. "I mean… I really don't mean to be like that. I'm trying to be sincere."

"I know you are," he leaned on one elbow himself, resuming tapping the pen with the other hand. "I just… I always thought girls like you… didn't know how."

Wow. Girls like her.

The weirdest part was… he wasn't even talking about her being a mutant. This was a guy who genuinely didn't understand the idea of genetic segregation and everything it implied. Racism, any kind of discrimination, set Gaz Russell on fire.

But he somehow thought that the ability to make life look easy was worth discriminating over. Or he _had_, anyhow, and was trying to get over it completely. Wasn't that what they were talking about? She'd never even imagined she'd be having a conversation like this, either way. Mutant rights, anti-segregation, defending her genes, yes. But this?

"I… don't even know what to say."

"Jesus, I'm so sorry," he looked recalcitrant again, biting at that lip. "I was just trying to explain—"

"No. It's okay," she said truthfully. It really was okay, even though she wasn't sure why she wasn't currently calling him an insensitive bastard and packing up her shit to go back to the dorm. She knew he was sorry and she knew he was still her friend, but that didn't seem like it should be enough. She just… she hadn't considered this before. "I mean, I guess now you know."

"Yeah. Damn, I'm supposed to be the accepting freedom fighter type and I'm treating you like you're subhuman just because you're beautiful."

She blinked, stunned for just a moment. Partially because he was almost echoing what she'd thought before… but mostly because of the words he'd used to do it.

Plenty of people thought she was beautiful. Not only that, but Jean had also been outright _told_ she was beautiful before. Her parents, her sister, Scott… hell, even Duncan had probably said it once or twice. She supposed she knew she was, but just didn't think about it all _that _much. It was just… taken for granted.

But it somehow piled weird on top of weird to hear him say it like it was something he took for granted too.

He was apparently conscious of the same effect. Embarrassment gushed out of him and what little of his ears she could see under his mop of hair turned a violent shade of pink.

His attraction to her had pretty much always been obvious. She'd always known because she always knew—she was a telepath. It didn't mean anything; she could count on one hand the number of boys her age she knew who hadn't at least considered what she'd look like in her underwear (and those ones were pretty much all gay.) She was comfortable with this aspect of humanity—she'd had to be for a long time. Even as a little girl she'd been beautiful.

But it was still intense this time, somehow. Maybe the conversation they'd been having. Maybe the way the day was going. Maybe everything she suddenly felt like she was starting to realize right there and then.

"I mean…," he stuttered again as the pink from his ears began to creep onto his cheeks. It heightened the not-quite-girlish aspect that pretty mouth gave his face in a way Jean wouldn't have expected. In a very not-bad way, really. "You know. You know you're beautiful so… that's not weird. For me to just say it…" then he sighed and leaned back in his seat again. Looking up at her like a little kid who'd just gotten caught doing something very bad. "It was weird wasn't it?"

She couldn't help smiling, but tried very hard not to laugh at him.

He was so not her type. But he had his moments. "Let's just move on, huh?" she suggested charitably.

He seemed to agree with this, since he grabbed the paper nearest to his fingers and looked it over. Seconds later he pronounced, "So Dr. Rao huh? I hear she's a real cunt."

"COTY," Jean agreed. Still watching him and feeling… well, amused. Still thoughtful, she supposed… but mostly amused.

"Huh?"

"Cunt Of The Year," she explained. "Aurora and I give out awards. She wins this week."

"I thought it was COTY, not W."

She shrugged. "Yeah well, the world is full of 'em, right?"

His only reply was the utterly inane and insensible, "Vive La Resistance!"

Definitely not her type.

* * *

The lecture room reserved for the panel was of medium size—but NYS was a big University so that wasn't saying much. Jean and her fellows with the MHA had assumed it'd be more than enough. 

And they'd been wrong. Not only was every seat in the amphitheater-style lecture room completely filled, but kids were sitting in the aisles on top of backpacks, looking down on the short table of panelists they'd assembled. Mutants and scientists—people qualified either by life or academia to discuss and frankly answer questions about mutants.

Jean shot a pseudo-grim look at Scott, who was sitting not too far in front of her and had turned around to arch an eyebrow toward her (she could almost feel how sweaty his palms would be by now, poor guy).

_Turn around and face your adoring public,_ she thought at him. Maybe just a little smugly.

Not that she was enjoying his discomfort - but it was a bit like the cherry on top of what might turn out to be a Satisfaction Sundae, if things went well.

Or a Shit Sundae if they didn't. Either way, she couldn't deny herself a little fun.

_I don't know what to do when they _want _to talk to me._

_Consider it my gift to you_, she thought back, grinning and merciless.

He turned his back on her, clearly broadcasting unkind sentiments about where she could go and what she could do to herself there.

She just kept grinning. If she looked confident… well that was what she was trying for, wasn't it? Now she just needed to truly feel that way and this whole thing would be over in no time. No time at all.

And then the games began.

0

"Mr. Summers, how did you discover you were a mutant?"

Scott leaned forward slightly, clearing his throat into the tiny mic their sound guy had set up. Jean winced, waiting for it to start screeching and embarrass the hell out of the Mutant Dork…

But it didn't.

"I was in a plane crash when I was a kid and I got a pretty big bump on the head. When I opened my eyes I blew the roof off the hospital. That told me all I needed to know."

Jean smiled, now looking at Scott from the side. He was definitely sweating… but he was trying to keep it light, as instructed. Kitty looked nervous too, sitting at his left and biting her lip. But Aurora was cool as could be on his right, smiling brightly at anyone who looked her way for a moment.

Good choices, she decided finally. This might work out okay.

"Doesn't that just prove that mutants are dangerous?"

Scott shook his head. "It proves that our powers can be dangerous, yes. I don't think anyone could argue about that. But you're probably noticing that the roof is still on this building. I like to keep things low key."

A slight laugh ran through the audience (who were frighteningly attentive. Jean couldn't' remember ever being in a lecture hall on campus that was actually this interested in what anyone in front of the giant projector screen had to say).

"Not all mutants are like that. What about Magneto?"

Scott almost smiled, but couldn't quite manage. "Actually, Magneto has seen the error of his ways and is now working in concert with the X-Men. It's our belief that by training mutants to understand their own powers and instilling a sense of responsibility in them, we can actually help to make the world a better, safer place."

"What about accidents like yours? People could die."

Jean almost smiled. Scott was so ready for this one. He'd practiced a thousand times. Knowing him, since the day it had happened. "With better understanding, we hope to bring those accidents to a minimum. Statistically speaking, just think how many more people are injured in gun accidents than by mutant manifestation every year."

She caught his eyes. _Nice one_.

He shot her a dirty look for distracting him.

The chemist from ESU leaned forward then, cleared his throat into the mic. Connors was his name—a smallish man with a missing arm. He kept one sleeve of his tweed jacket pinned up to his side in an accidentally tragicomic fashion and spoke with a distinct Queens accent. "I'd like to jump in here and say that Mr. Summers has the right idea. Historically speaking there have been many capabilities we've developed that have potentially disastrous results—All that keeps us from blowing up the world is us. And while Mr. Summers has amazing powers, he's hardly of atom bomb proportions."

Well.. that wasn't exactly true. But this was all about spin, after all. Doc Connors had just made her list of Favorite People.

"I heard the X-Men _have_ a kid who is like an atom bomb."

"That's not exactly true," Scott lied through his teeth. If there was one thing that could convince him to do that like a pro, it was this issue. "That kid is my brother and believe me—he's not dangerous."

Kitty leaned forward suddenly. "His hair is totally dangerous. It's really pretty."

Another laugh ran through the crowd.

Scott looked at Kitty beside him like she'd grown another head. "Thanks for that, Kit."

0

"How can you really integrate yourselves with humanity in general if you make your little X-Club?"

Aurora flashed her smile at the girl standing at the mic in front of her and leaned into her own. "I'll take that one. This event was organized by a joint effort between humans and mutants—Gaz Russell and Jean Grey are the reason we're here today," she looked to the side of the little platform and gestured for them to wave.

Jean shot Gaz an exasperated look. He just laughed.

But Aurora was already going on. "Jean is an example of the fact that we aren't just mutants—we're the same as you. Our _little X-Club_," she laughed the phrase off—clever girl, "is not meant to be exclusive or to separate us. We live, work and go to school with everyone else. It exists to help us deal with our powers."

A boy stepped up to the mic now, skinny with black rimmed librarian glasses. "Aurora—do you have a boyfriend?"

The entire auditorium laughed, including Aurora.

Jean resisted rolling her eyes. She was laughing too. Who could blame them—Aurora had worn red today. For some reason she was extra gorgeous in red.

"I do, yes," she replied gamely. "But save me a dance tonight."

Her wink made the crowd laugh again. And some of the boys sit up a little straighter.

"Do you date humans?"

"My boyfriend is a mutant, but I would certainly date a human. It would be silly not to. Especially one as cute as you."

Flushing, that questioner sat down. The next boy to stand looked directly at Kitty and asked, "What about you Shadowcat?"

"Oh my god…," Kitty laughed nervously, her cheeks flushing. Not, Jean noticed, with embarrassment.

Jean was about to interrupt when Dr. Johns, their own NYS panelist, did it for her. "Okay that's enough about the personal life."

0

"What would you do if a super villain landed right here right now and tried to kill us all for talking to you?"

Aurora jumped at that one. "Kick her ass."

Kitty threw in, "Then take her name."

"We have paperwork to take care of when that happens," Scott explained in his most serious of voices. "The name is important."

0

"Dr. Rao, you've worked with mutant genetics for awhile now at Metro—is there a way to cure mutancy?"

Jean stiffened at the question. She felt Gaz looking at her, waiting for the explosion. Probably so he could be ready for damage control.

But she held it in. This was part of it too… even if the crowd was mostly young people who were more open-minded than she could believe they'd had the luck to attract… well there had to be a few.

Kavita Rao didn't smile maniacally or look the least bit evil. Not like Jean imagined she would when she finally got asked this particular question (or one like it—it was inevitable. Damn Metro for sending _her_… even if she was the most qualified.) She just answered with a completely straight face, a faint, somehow scholarly half-Indian, half-English accent managing to add to the clinical coldness of her words. "I believe there might be a cure some day, but we've not found it yet. It will probably be presented as an option in the future, but for now it's simply a theory. There is a kind of therapy that is currently possible to _mask _the genetic stamp that declares one a mutant, but that therapy leaves all mutation intact to date."

Jean bit her lip. She knew better… and so did every X-Man. That therapy did _not _leave all mutation intact… not when it involved a genetic link with another mutant, à la Aurora and Northstar. But that wasn't hers to drop and she knew it. It was Aurora's.

And Aurora stayed quiet.

The next person to ask a question shot a dirty look at the guy who'd asked the "cure" question in the first place. "Isn't it a little racist to call it a _cure_, like it's some kind of disease?"

Jean smiled to herself, feeling slightly vindicated. Damn right.

"I'm just a geneticist, not a diplomat," Dr. Rao smiled this time. It was a small cold thing. "Semantics don't concern me."

Jean grimaced and finally met Gaz's eyes. He was watching her impatiently and she couldn't take it anymore. She just rolled her eyes at him to illustrate how little she valued the COTY's opinion. He was visibly relieved and returned his attention to the next question.

"Scott Summers, what do you think about the idea of a cure?"

"No one's options should be limited by my opinion." His answer could not possibly have been more diplomatic. Jean was proud of him. "There are some mutations that affect people's lives and even health in a very bad way—they don't always get eye lasers and flight."

"But personally?"

His flash of diplomacy failed him right about there. He screwed his face up and said, "I wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole. I wouldn't change who my parents were, how I was brought up, or anything else that's a part of me. Considering any of those things as something that needs "curing"… well, that's pretty messed up."

"Kitty Pryde?"

"I totally agree," Kitty nodded, wagging her ponytail in agreement. "It's hard at first to be a mutant. I mean, a lot of people in here today are probably mutants trying to deal with hiding who they are and I'll bet they'd give a lot just to be able to make it go away—that's totally how I was before I joined the X-Men. But hiding from it is a lie. No one should have to be afraid of who they are or feel like there's something wrong with them because of how they were born."

Jean smiled to herself. Definitely a good choice of X-Men here. Kitty had the cute, everyone would identify with her. Scott had the command. Aurora… well she'd pick up the stragglers with that weird Beaubier magnetism threw around—these days she had just as much as her brother (a more attainable, friendly version at that. Jean-Paul here… god, _that _would've been a disaster).

"So you think calling it a "cure" is wrong?"

Kitty was still nodding. "Yeah, definitely—if something needs 'cured' that implies wrongness, right? I don't think there's anything wrong with me."

Jean caught Aurora elbowing Scott and laughing. And was slightly surprised (in a good way) when Scott leaned forward and said into his mic, "Well, not because of your mutation."

Jean beamed. Scott, in the biggest miracle she'd yet to witness in all her years at Xavier's, had almost relaxed!

See what a little decent PR could do for mutants?

"Shut up, Scott!" Kitty smacked his arm as the crowd laughed. When they calmed down she went back to talking, the smile falling off her lips quickly. "But I mean if someone offered to 'cure' me of being Jewish I'd probably have to cut them or something."

That hit a chord with the audience, a few of whom started nodding or whispering to neighbors. Jean could not have been happier… comparison with the National Socialist Party? Oh, _that _was spin. Accurate and indefatigable spin. The only irreversible kind.

Dr. Johns piped up again at that point, "That happened once upon a time, and we'd do well not to forget it. Our best hope is that humanity can learn from past mistakes, not repeat them."

There was a lot of grave nodding from the audience, on top of the already present considering stares. But no one objected to the idea.

Which was yet another miracle. Somewhere between turning water into wine and parting the Red Sea, Jean estimated.

"Aurora?"

Jubilation suddenly quashed, Jean turned her eyes to her friend. This… could get ugly.

Aurora seemed to consider nothing for a moment, narrowing her sharp blue eyes and taking a deep breath. She didn't look scared, exactly (not that she had in quite some time, that Jean could recall)… or angry (which she looked fairly often). Just like she wasn't sure how she should answer. After a few long moments of silence, she finally spoke. "I've had the therapy Dr. Rao speaks of to mask my genetic makeup from external scans. Due to recent experiences, some of which were on this campus, it was necessary for my peace of mind. But that doesn't mean I'm ashamed of being a mutant or that I think it requires a cure. I love who I am. It means that I value my privacy."

The entire speech was given with head held high, eyes focusing on various members of the audience individually, and every word completely even. Her voice was steady, quiet. People were leaning forward when she finished.

Jean relaxed. Good girl.

"Well if you value your privacy why are you a publicly declared X-Man?"

Aurora smiled. "Just because I'm a private person doesn't mean I want to hide _everything_. I feel no shame for who I am and I want the world to know. Just not… the wrong sort of people. There are people out there who would hurt or destroy us, and it's our right to keep ourselves safe from those people. All of us, not just mutants."

The next guy to stand up gripped the microphone tightly, like he feared it'd be taken away. Jean understood why when she heard his question.

"Are you too private to give out your phone number?"

"All right, all right…" Dr. Johns interrupted. Again.

0

"Do you see yourselves as role models for other mutants?"

Kitty laughed. "No way. I mean I guess I hope that by talking about it and being all open it'll let other mutants who are afraid to like… come out of the closet feel safer. But I don't expect anyone to look up to me. I mean, that'd be weird."

Scott avoided looking at her with disapproval, but Jean grinned when she felt it radiating off him. "I think there's an increased sense of responsibility on all the X-Men now that we're public, but I don't think it weighs too heavily. We're still kids, we still have a good time."

Aurora elbowed Scott again then shot him a pointed look. "Some more than others."

She sounded so much like her brother, Jean thought she should be appalled. But instead it was hilarious.

0

"Do the X-Men inter-date a lot?"

Dr. Johns shot Jean a look, but she shook her head once. Sure it wasn't really relevant… but if people got interested in the X-Men… well, that was good news. If they wanted to treat them like superstars, that'd be the best possible thing that could happen. Jean wasn't about to interfere.

So long as they weren't asking for phone numbers or dates.

Scott looked from Kitty to Aurora, both of whom were smiling a little too devilishly, and decided to answer himself. "Uh, sometimes I guess. We all live in the same house for the most part, so it's pretty common."

"Doesn't that cause problems?"

"It's a bit Melrose Place sometimes, isn't it?" Aurora threw in with another wink at the crowd.

They loved her.

Well, the guys did anyhow. Which was great, as far as Jean was concerned. (See, she'd come so far, she reminded herself.)

"Just like a college dorm," Scott tried to calm the situation.

"Can I be an X-Man?"

That one actually made Scott smile. "Sure, what do you do?"

"Nothing, I just want to date Rogue. She's hot."

Kitty snorted out a laugh. "I'll pass on the message. She'll be totally thrilled."

"_Could_ a human be an X-Man?"

Thankfully, Scott was quick to answer. That could've been bad if not. "I don't see why not. Originally we were formed to help us keep control on our powers, since most of us have abilities that could be potentially dangerous to us and our families. The whole mutant police force thing is sort of a by-product, but if someone wanted to join up we'd definitely look into it."

"Great, so can I join?"

Scott glanced over at her nervously. "Uh, talk to Jean."

"Thanks Scott," she muttered through her smile. "Thanks a lot."

0

"Why do you all live in the same house? Couldn't you just come in for class, like in college?"

Aurora nodded in Jean's direction. "Jean lives on campus here, and so will I next year. But my brother and I were raised near Montreal—the commute might be easy for him but not for me."

"Yeah my parents live in Chicago," Kitty agreed. "No way I'm making that trip every morning."

Scott cut in with a little dose of his Patented Serious. "That aside, a lot of us need serious training and help, like me and my kid brother who both have powers that need to be in check all the time. Staying at the Institute helps keep us on top of things."

Boring. Jean resisted rolling her eyes. That wasn't what they wanted to hear.

Aurora saved the day, however. "And a lot of us don't have family to speak of, so we really have no where else to go."

"A lot of you have no family?"

Scott nodded, coming on board. "Yeah that's a fair statement. I mean compared to the general population we probably have a large proportion of kids without family to go to."

"So is there something that makes mutants have tragic lives or what?"

Scott just grinned. Jean thought that was extremely big of him, all things considered. His life hadn't exactly been a bunch of roses before Xavier… not at all.

She was proud of him again. But then again, she was always proud of him.

"Dr. Rao," he leaned over and directed his question at the stern-looking woman, grinning at her like he didn't think she was pure poison. "Is it genetic? Wired into the X-Factor maybe?"

Dr. Rao smiled unimpressively. "I'll have to gather more data before I can speak to that."

0

The questions came and went. Technical, scientific ones, silly personal ones, everything in between. It had been two hours before Dr. Johns called that this one would be the last.

A boy Jean recognized from last semester's biology class stood up and looked right at her. "I want to address this question to Jean Grey. What do you think you can accomplish by bringing us all together for events like this?"

Jean considered her options. She couldn't exactly refuse… she could use this, really. But she had to be careful. "Well," she started slowly. "I think exactly what's happening here is what the world needs more of. I mean, do these kids up here seem different from you? Of course not. Do I? Some of you sit next to me in class. You know I work just as hard to pass my tests and finish my term papers…" She gave Gaz a dirty look for good measure there and took his arm, pulling him close to her both as an example… and as her friend, "as this guy. That's what I want to accomplish."

To her relief, the question-guy didn't turn out to be a complete dick. "Don't you think that's a long way off?"

She jerked on Gaz's arm, to signify that he should speak. Now.

"It's a start." He ventured. "We both think it's a start. Someone has to get things rolling."

"Are you a mutant?" someone from the crowd asked.

"No," he answered.

"Just a freedom fighter," she said. Loud enough that only the two of them would hear.

* * *

A loud feedback whine cut through the air, silencing the massive, crushed crowd in the basement of Salomon Hall. Jean winced and looked up to the stage… and realized that they'd done it on purpose. The guitar player—a guy with spiky fire-engine red hair and more metal stuck through his face than Jean had ever seen in her life—was holding his guitar up to one of the massive orange amps on stage behind him, grinning wickedly at the results. 

The hard part was over, but Dazzler was making her nervous as hell. And it didn't help when the singer, the skinny punk-ass mutant called Alison Blaire, staggered (yes, staggered) up to the microphone, leaned on it heavily and growled into it, "Hey… it's just super fucking cool to be here at… where the fuck are we…?"

Jean sighed. Great. A sarcastic drunk singer. This was bound to be loads of fun.

"She looks like my kind of girl," a voice said in her ear.

She smiled. She didn't need to look to figure out who was there. "Remy. Glad you made it."

"Jean!"

She looked up as Gaz made his way through the crowd toward her, waving like a big dork.

"Yeah whatever," the singer slurred. "Fuck all you University assholes anyhow. One, two, FUCK YOU!"

A barrage of heavy guitar slammed over the crowd as the singer counted it in, punk style. And everyone in the place exploded, jumping, screaming… enjoying. A few seconds after the sound began there was a burst of what Jean thought of as Mutant Pyrotechnics over the stage. Bubbles of red, blue and purple illuminated the crowd in an otherworldly wash of light, then exploded over the band in (what Jean hoped were) harmless firework-looking sparks. In that flash Jean saw well over three hundred faces light up—every last one of them impressed, better than half completely infatuated.

When Gaz reached her she threw her arms around him, "They're so terrible," she half-yelled into his ear. She supposed they were actually good, but it was so not her kind of music. Loud and involving a lot of growling from the singer-girl. But the crowd was eating it up already. The room was heating up and so were all the minds in it. "But they're amazing!"

Gaz looked at her and grinned as she pulled back, obviously pleased with himself. Another burst lit up the cave-like basement and the entire crowd screamed as Dazzler launched into the chorus. In that light, his smile looked even prettier than usual.

"Told you!" he laughed. She didn't _hear _the laugh, of course. But she saw it just the same.

She attempted to make introductions between Remy (who had apparently brought, of all people, Kurt and Rogue with him) and Gaz but it was mostly futile thanks to the sheer volume of sound and crush surrounding them. She spotted Kurt holed up near the side of the stage already with Scott and Kitty and Rogue wasn't far behind Remy, watching the band intently. Aurora had sidled up to her and was whispering into her ear.

But Rogue liked the band, genuinely. Jean could feel it coming off the psuedo-goth in waves. Her and the rest of the crowd. Mutants, humans, and anything that might've been in between. Everyone was jumping, yelling, singing along. Everyone was happy.

She took Gaz's hand on an impulse and squeezed it, the last of her nervousness fading. Without thinking she sent a wave of her excitement to him. Before she could stop herself, his eyes grew wide, reflecting another flash of bright red light that was exploding over Alison Blaire's head on stage.

Her heart jerked inside her. She'd been so excited… she'd just forgotten…

"I'm sorry!" She yelled in his ear, the best she could do under the circumstances.

He shook his head hard, so his hair half-covered his (still mildly shocked) face. "Don't be!" she made out. His lips moved some more, but she didn't understand. She was glad just to watch them move.

She felt like a superhero. Like an honest to god superhero. Whatever the hell was going on up there on stage, she didn't care—it was pumping everyone up. Her plans had _worked_ and everyone was _happy_. This was the world she wanted…

In the middle of her straining thoughts of Utopia in the crowded hot loud basement of Salomon Hall, sudden distress crashed into her mind, tearing her breath and her reverie away. Jean snapped her eyes back to the stage and saw an extra person there. It wasn't exactly large so the black-clad guy in the ski mask wasn't difficult to make out as the "one of these things" that was "not like the other." She gripped Gaz's hand hard, letting him in on the send for some reason, and made sure every X-Man in the room heard her.

_This is about to get ugly. Look for ski masks._

When she looked behind her Remy and Aurora were already gone and Rogue had cornered another ski mask nearby.

"What's going on?" Gaz yelled over the thumping music as she let his hand go.

"Fuck you, asshole!" The singer's voice blared on stage, punctuated by a searing flash of green light bubbles that sent the Ski Mask hurling backward into the crowd. "Get off my stage!" The singer then stuck both of her middle fingers up in the air, as if suggesting the entire world sit on them, licked her lips and started singing again. Without missing a line, so far as Jean could tell.

_Great_. _Maybe _she_ should be an X-Man too_. As she had the thought, Jean raised one hand and concentrated all her thoughts on this one action, this one moment. She caught the Stage Ski Mask in mid air and held him above the crowd, turning him over and over with her mind like he was being passed backward. The kids in the pit jumped up and down, sometimes jostling the figure above them violently. No one seemed the least bit shocked or scared by the whole scene. Some were laughing, some were cheering, and some just thought they'd found a great piñata.

_They think it's part of the show._

That had come from Scott. Jean tried to look over the crowd to see what he and the others on that side were getting up to, but had no luck. The herd of college kids was bouncing too furiously.

_Dressing rooms_, Jean thought at everyone, still using most of her concentration to hold the Ski Mask Guy up over the crowd. She started sending him in the right direction, somehow drawing absolutely no attention at all to herself in the act. The crowd was still loving it. More lights exploded on stage and Alison Blaire's voice, strangely hypnotic, filled the swarming space with sound, color and light.

When Jean made her way through the crowd with her prize, she lowered him to the floor and shoved him through the nearest door telekinetically, forcing him to walk. The other X-Men were already in the hall—sans Kitty and Kurt who were still in the crowd, making sure that was the last of them.

There were four of them in all, currently standing against the cinder-block wall in the hallway to the dressing rooms, all clad in black. Sullen and pouty even with their face-coverings firmly in place. The music was quieter the hall when the fire door slammed behind her, still pounding on the other side of the cinderblock walls, but Jean's ears were ringing. And her eyes were flashing from the mutant pyrotechnics.

It didn't stop her from asking as she blinked, "What the hell is going on here?"

Rogue reached up and yanked the mask off the nearest black-clad would-be terrorist.

Jean recognized him immediately.

"Derrick!"

She turned quickly and glared. Gaz had followed her and she hadn't even noticed.

It was a stupid mistake. The moment she took her eyes off him, he lunged for Gaz screaming at the top of his lungs, "Race traitor!!"

Various exclamations issued forth from several X-Men—Jean wasn't exactly in a position to take notes. Rogue, Scott, Aurora and Remy all lunged to intercept their captive. Jean, on the other hand, didn't see what was happening till Derrick Mantegna from last semester's biology class slammed head first into Gaz and flattened him against the wall in a stunning impression of a human bettering ram.

"No!" Jean threw up one hand to try and pull the pseudo-terrorist away, but it was too late. While part of her knew that this whole thing (particularly the "race traitor!!" bit) would've been hilarious under other circumstances… she was too busy watching Gaz's head slam against the wall with a sick thud right before he collapsed to the ground under a pile of angry (and pathetic) neo-nazi to really laugh.

Aurora got to them first. She pulled the Derrick off his prey with one hand, jerking him away with what superspeed was left to her. It wasn't much, but it was more than some college kid could handle—Derrick whiplashed backward. Directly into Rogue.

Rogue caught him one handed as well. But sans glove, and by the face. Jean felt that familiar sense of terror that came off Rogue every time she absorbed someone, felt her shudder from the inside out…

Jean recovered herself in time to telekinetically keep the guy from cracking his head open on the floor.

Mostly. And if she simply suspended him for a few moments then let him drop two or three feet to hit the ground… well he wouldn't die from it, would he?

The noise through the wall changed into a loud roaring—there was more muffled swearing from Alison Blaire over the thumping of feet and yelling for more.

Shit. Gaz.

Jean returned her attention to her fallen friend, whom Remy was already helping to sit up against the wall. "Lemme see your eyes," the Cajun suggested, gently turning the other boy's face so he could check him out. "You bleeding? No—don' try and shake your head. Hold still."

Her stomach churned restlessly as she knelt beside them, still silent. If he wasn't okay… just because she hadn't been looking…

"The cops should be here any second," Scott glared at the other ski masks for a moment (he'd been making sure they didn't move during those five seconds of madness apparently. Bless him for being sensible. Bless him for being the best. Ever).

"Fucking amateurs," Rogue snorted as Scott started pulling off the other masks. She reached out and grabbed at the pocket of the Mask Guy next to her, one gloved hand emerging with a thin, wicked looking black device. "They honestly thought they could come in here and bust up the party with masks and tasers. Lost their financial backing or something. Assholes."

Scott snorted as he pulled off the last mask. "Wow. I thought the Bayville genetic terrorist types were lame… you guys did realize this place would be full of X-Men right?"

Jean, on the other hand, had no witty quips or explanations. She just glared at the newly unmasked college kid in front of her. "You."

Andy Rasz, the boy who'd been kicked off campus for the little demonstration last semester that Aurora had been injured in, was standing there. Glaring at her defiantly.

Like he hadn't just tried to do the stupidest thing ever. And failed before he'd even begun. Miserably. Pathetically.

He didn't say anything. Just glared with those same cold eyes he'd tried to stare her down with so many times before—in class and out.

"You pigfucker," Gaz was growling from his position in Remy's arms (apparently still in possession of his weird, judging from his word choice. That was a relief). "I'm gonna…"

"You gonna do nothing, _mon ami_…" Remy tried to soothe him, sounding fairly amused.

"Oh, _you_," Aurora laughed. It was not a happy laugh—more of a derisive Jean-Paul kind of sound. Far from being disappointing, Jean felt it had just the right measure of evil and amusement in it for the ridiculous occasion.

Rogue reached into the pockets of the other captives one at a time and removed their little tasers, then tossed them to Remy. Remy, being a man of many pockets and hiding places, made them disappear quickly.

"Silly boy," Aurora purred, leaning in close to Andy. She made a pouty face and shook her head as if sad. "Didn't you learn your lesson the first time? I know I did."

Andy stiffened, tried to lean away from Aurora while his (still-conscious) comrades fidgeted.

Jean shot Scott a sharp look. Aurora was getting that… look in her eye. And if they thought the light explosions in there with the band were big… well, it was about to get scary in here.

Not that it wouldn't out there, seeing as the singer-mutant combo was apparently a belligerent drunk. But that wasn't the point.

"Let's get them outside," Scott said brusquely. "Aurora, Rogue, come with me. Gambit, Jean you two okay to smooth things over?

"I don't think there's anything to smooth, but sure," Jean offered, glancing again at Gaz. His thoughts felt confused and that couldn't be a good sign. Yes, she knew she shouldn't be looking at them quite so closely, but now was no time to be concerned about his personal privacy—he could be seriously hurt.

"Remy help you carry him," Gambit offered, propping Gaz up gently and disentangling himself.

"I can carry him," Rogue made a face at him.

"Oh let them," Aurora laughed, still eyeing Andy Rasz like a hungry lion with a wildebeest. "We'll keep these boys in line."

"Move it," Scott shot Remy a quick dirty look—he'd told Remy to stay and he should've stayed. But the look was gone quickly—Scott was apparently in a mood to pick his battles today. He picked Derrick Mantegna up by the arms as Remy grabbed his legs and they started to herd the lot of them out.

Jean hardly noticed the last look Remy shot her before he left the hall—no more than to think he still looked amused for no good reason. She slipped against the wall beside Gaz and tucked her legs up, watching his eyes carefully for any sign of difficulty focusing or of that lovely pupil size disparity she'd come to know and fear in her years as an X-Man. "You okay? Feel like vomiting or anything?"

He wrinkled up his nose and leaned back against the wall, wincing only slightly when his head touched cinderblock. "No. Well I didn't tell you mentioned it."

"Gareth, maybe I should call an ambulance—" she reached for her phone.

But his hand stopped her. "No, seriously. I'm okay. No sickness, no dizziness. I remember who I am and everything."

She almost smiled but worry stopped her short. She felt relieved that he could joke about it, which would _appear_ to be a good sign. And he was looking her in the eye with his usual intensity, so things _appeared _to be okay there too… but yeah. Not rushing to conclusions.

"Do you think you can stand?" she asked. That'd be a good measure of how much he was trying to hide to be a man. She felt no overt deception around him, but she wasn't going to dig.

Not yet anyhow.

"Yeah," he replied gamely. She stood up and leaned over to offer him her hand, which he took. And as soon as he started hoisting himself off the ground he groaned and fell back onto his butt with all the ceremony of a toddler learning to walk.

"Oh no," she worried at her lower lip, kneeling in front of him, still holding his hand. "Is it your head?"

"No, I think I bruised a rib or something…," he made a pained face to illustrate his point (also in the vein of an aggravated toddler).

She reached down for the hem of his t-shirt with her free hand and pulled it upward. Sure enough, just above his (completely unremarkable) stomach was a large irritated area. Right where Derrick had slammed into him. She sighed to herself more than him—if it was a little pink on the outside, what must it look like on the _inside_? "Dammit. Probably got your lower ribs on that side… that's definitely going to leave a mark."

She poked at it with one finger for effect.

"Ouch!" he squirmed.

She rolled her eyes, masking the relief that was starting to calm her down substantially. Head injuries were probably out—if this was the worst of it… he'd be fine. Everything was okay. "Oh you baby."

"Hey a minute ago you were all sweet and worried that I was going to die!" he protested, laughing and wincing alternately. Apparently the laughter hurt, but he couldn't stop. "Where'd that go?"

She snorted out a laugh that she assumed would communicate to him that the moment for pity had passed (even though it hadn't at all) and attempted to replace his shirt over the large expanse of skin she'd just bared in clinical appraisal.

But he stopped her. He put his free hand over hers, holding it against the sore spot over his ribs. Which meant he had both her hands now, one of them laid against his bare skin in a place she probably shouldn't be touching him, while she was kneeling far too close to him on the ground.

His skin was warm. He smelled vaguely like Polo aftershave. His eyes were almost pretty, up close like this. His ears were pink again. His lips (those lips) were very close. Not six inches away.

She wasn't sure how she'd ended up here.

Even more surprising than that, however, was that she wasn't _upset_ to be here in the least. In fact there was a pleasant sort of warm sensation spreading from her middle through her entire body now, liquid and a little bit… electric. She thought she'd chalk it up to the supreme sense of relief she must've been feeling that everything had really come out okay. The panel had gone better than well, the concert was a success, the one interruption had been a bunch of silly amateurs with no sense at all…

But that wasn't what it was.

"You're pretty amazing when you're being all X-Man," his voice was low, lower than she could remember hearing it before. Sweet and almost… charming, really. Or maybe it was the faint feeling of his breath on her cheek that was doing it. "Is it always that exciting?"

"That," Jean smiled even as she realized that she wasn't breathing properly, "was the equivalent of a high school kegger. Sad, messy and embarrassing."

"It was a good day, huh?" he was still smiling.

If he hadn't been, she told herself, she wouldn't have been so stupid as to flirt. Not here and not now, not with him that close and… holding her like _this_.

But he was, so she did. "In spite of your battle wounds? Yeah. But I know how peace love and understanding turn you on."

"And I know how good PR pushes your buttons."

She laughed… but still didn't move. He was close… very, very close. She knew what would happen if she didn't move. There was that split second chance, that breathless hairline of a moment where she could change the fate of her entire relationship with this him. She could act and be sane. Stable. Safe. A good girl.

Or she could _not_ act. Which would be crazy, wonderful and maybe just a little bit evil of her.

It had been a long time. It was too much of a rush.

The thumping on the other side of the wall started in earnest again, Alison Blaire screaming eloquently to three hundred happy mutants and humans.

"You forgive me for last night?"

"Shut up," she commanded. But she kept smiling. And she didn't move.

It didn't feel the least bit guilty at all. When he finally leaned forward and kissed her, she kissed back.

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AN: Hey ya'll check out the website I linked from my profile recently for awesome collaborative Marvelfic writing fun. I know some of you would be interested! Yeah I just used an AN for a pimp… what can I say? Wouldn't be the first time... 


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